Conqueror and Captive
by Andrea Foxx
Summary: The Twilight Occupation ended with the death of the Dark Lord Ganondorf, but death did not end the Dark Lord. With the Hero vanished and Hyrule in danger, she locks him away and prays her seal will hold. ZelGan
1. Chapter 1

Zelda thought it was all over. It had to be. The sun was setting, and the Evil King was beaten. He straightened, reaching for dignity, and uttered his final words. Only Link heard them, but Zelda had a guess.

Link the Hero ground the Master Sword deep into the sacred wound, silvered steel piercing through the man's core. At first, the blood was white as the telltale holy mark upon him, but then there was a gasp and a spurt and out spilled deep, dark crimson: glowing in the dusklight. Ganondorf Lord of Darkness dropped his branding blade and it shivered apart, spent and dead. Power flared once, twice, and was still. His eyes grew wide and he stood fast as stone. Then, he crumpled dead to the ground, bleeding into the dirt.

Link and Zelda stood there for a short time. Of them, Zelda did not know what sadness came over her. Perhaps it was the twilight, the final hiccup of madness in his eyes as the madman saw something nobody else could see. And in the horrific moment he finally died there was a startling burst of clarity in him, as if at his instant of passing he had seen beyond his own hate. Even if for a second.

Zelda felt... sad. As horrid and hateful he had been, it was Zant in her mind that had taken Hyrule. This man was just an insane donor of power that had never gotten to act. He had been too crazed to act. He had used Zant, but had gained nothing from it. Mastermind, master of nothing.

Even as the Spirits of Light appeared over the hill, even as Midna came back seemingly from destruction, the Princess Zelda stood unmoving. Midna's return was Link's triumph.

This was barely her story, Zelda realized. She could not stand between Link and Midna. She had no place to. There was nothing for her here, but to pick up the slivers of her cracked kingdom and leave Link to his well-earned peace.

Probably, she thought, this is why I feel so empty.

She turned from the happy scene over the hill. It was not for her. Instead, there was the huge, prone form of their greatest enemy. His body had fallen upon the Master Sword, had been pierced all the way through and had been forgotten. The iron of his blood seeped into the ground, scent rising in the evening chill. It glistened, slick where it had ran under her boots.

Someone had to be realistic. With extreme difficulty and some magic, Zelda managed to flip the cooling body over, avoiding the empty horrified eyes that once had been so full of fire. Now she couldn't bear to imagine the stony reflections in that death stare. It felt wrong to her, undignified.

The Master Sword was covered in blood. Her gloves were ruined as she yanked it out of him, feeling the edges slip smoothly out of the flesh. As she removed it, the luminous holy wound faded until all that was left was an ordinary kill, cooling in the night. The curse to Ganondorf, King of Evil, was gone. He had been condemned to death a lifetime ago. Finally, death had found him.

She felt the weight of the Master Sword, streaked in the dark man's blood. She thrust it into the ground and stooped by the one it had slain.

What now? He would not be mourned. So what funeral rite did the Lord of Darkness get? Did he even deserve one? Surely, she thought, although darkness was foul he had been formidable. She was not one to spit on a fallen adversary, even though she had fantasized about doing so in the past. But as the reality sank in, she found she simply couldn't bear to disgrace this foe. There was no menace here. It was just a dead man. He lay before her, lifeless.

She should have hated him, she knew. But all she felt was a cold sadness and disgust. It was the end. And as bearer of Wisdom she knew that there was too much that had gone unsaid before this villain's final bow.

"I know your people," she whispered, confident that he could not hear. "I've read of them, seen their fall in visions. It was both our faults. You don't have to apologize; you've paid now. I do."

She should not have felt this way, she knew. He was the abhorrent evil, the one she had seen in every vision about darkness and despair Wisdom had given her. But as the Hero ran off to be with _his_ princess, Zelda bowed her head to the dead man, and pleaded forgiveness. Wisdom was a double-edged sword. She knew of this man's atrocities. But she also knew that he had been overlooked in this iteration of the eternal cycle. As had she. They had killed him, so she had no fear of what he said. He was dead and they both had been left behind in some way.

He had been mighty and proud in life. And in her mind, there was an echo of recognition. True, he had possessed her empty body for spare minutes as a crazed mockery to the Hero. But the taste he left to her was one of sadness, of despair and sorrow. He hadn't thought at all of what he was doing, or any implications of using her physical self as a weapon. All there was to say could be found in the agony and grief his muddled consciousness exuded. There was no subtext, there was only victory.

Not hate or spite. It troubled her. Made her pity. And regret that she never had known him, understood him more. As it was, it disturbed her how little satisfaction she felt in the kill. He had never been her curse in this lifetime. He had orchestrated a coup that left him nothing. He had returned to a world that housed none of the things he hoped to seek revenge upon in the first place. And a hundred years or more before he had been imprisoned for merely what he was _going_ to do in some possible future, in a destiny.

Zelda knew he had seen and experienced that destiny during his imprisonment, forced to stare out the eyes of another him, in some other time.

Damned from the start, damned in the past, and damned until his death. No wonder his insanity had grown so deep. It was a marvel he could even formulate words, was coherent enough to be understood at all in the end. His own shock should have destroyed him. He had held an inner strength of heart, even if just to be the nightmare he had been for them in the past weeks.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry for all that we have done. No matter your character, we had no right to try and change the future as we did. The blame falls upon me and my house. Please accept my apology, and find rest. Curse us no longer. It's finally over."

Her bloodstained gloves cracked as she reached over his frozen face. In death the lines and the jaw had relaxed, erasing most of his frenzy. No more than a man. He almost was peaceful.

"Sleep well, stranger," she whispered. Delicately, she closed his glassy eyes. "You were our mortal enemy, but we deserved every blow."

Link and Midna had vanished over the hill, gone until they would seek her out again. And no sooner had the Princess removed her fingertips from the fallen king's brow did a violent shudder spike through his body. The suddenness of it caused Zelda to startle and fall backward. As if lightning had struck him, his muscles convulsed powerfully, a bright scarlet flare shining from his right hand. The shockwave traveled from his core up and down his spine, into his legs and into his chest, flaring heat in his flesh where it had fled. Zelda could nearly hear a heartbeat restart, followed by more refined twitches as the gaping strike in his belly drew together, seamlessly closed. Color began to return to his face, and not a festering disease: warm blood was forcing back through him. A second burst of electricity forced open his mouth and he gave a deep gasp, chest expanding and pulling in fresh breath to force out the stale death in his lungs.

Eyes no longer vacant, but sharp and frightened snapped open where she had laid them shut to rest. But only for a moment: he gave a strangled, tired sound in the back of his throat and laid limp again, breathing ragged and shallow. However exhausted, wounded, or broken he was, Zelda could not avoid the staring truth that _Ganondorf was very much alive._

Zelda felt a black fear creeping over her. How? How could this be? A moment ago the holy blade had pierced his body clear through! His blood had drained out of him, was staining the grass! He should not have been squirming and gasping in broken sleep! It was... it couldn't be...

But it could, she noticed. His spirit had not left the body, had not been cleaved away by the Master Sword. Somehow, he had held on. And Power had revived him.

She cowered. The sheer magnitude of magic the holy relic fed the man to heal him, to nourish him, was frightening. It coursed through his veins, restoring lost blood, settling in muscles and promoting his return to strength.

He would not remain helpless for long. At this rate, she had only a few hours before he was likely to try and strike again. Zelda stood and grasped the Master Sword, shaking. Link was long gone. Zelda twisted her fingers around the hilt, training the tip over his again-beating heart. Slowly, she inched it closer. The holy magics in the blade made him shudder, made his piece of the Triforce glow brighter.

She wondered at his vulnerability to holy magics when an even greater source of sacred power ran through him constantly. The proximity to the Master Sword only made Power ooze magic more violently, curling defensively over his heart, feeding it strength to speed his pulse. He unconsciously writhed away from the sword tip.

In his blind haze, he stared up at her, weakly raising an arm a fraction. A suggestion of reaching. And the most frightening face she had ever seen from him: pleading.

And weakly, he spoke one broken, desperate word.

"Please."

And collapsed, too spent to do anything more. Zelda paused, hesitated. And as his eyes closed, she seized up and dropped the sword.

Once was enough. Link was able to kill this man. But in her heart, she knew her own dire weakness. Why she seeked others to place her justice. Why Midna mocked her. Why she had surrendered so easily at the start of everything.

She was weak. And he was proof.

Zelda gathered her magic and removed his recovering body to a remote cell deep in the dungeons. Invoking the strongest anti-magic barriers she could muster, she called upon Light itself and forged walls that could keep him in. He was sealed in a magical cell, one that would kill him again upon any type of escape attempt. No physical barrier could stop him. But his vessel was a mortal one, and she could restrain him with that.

She was back before Link returned. And she said nothing of what had happened to the body. To the Kingdom of Hyrule, The Lord of Darkness was dead and gone.

But she was careful never to mention Ganondorf's name. And the guards were not permitted in the deepest level of the dungeons any longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Zelda's answers came in the form of a vision. Scales. Weight. Balance. Time. Space.

The Triforce was of three for a reason. One would forever be alone. Two would be an eternal duality: ever in conflict. With three, the majority ruled. There was ambivalence, but balance could be brought to the world with three where perpetual chaos would come of two, and stagnation of one. Any more than three would split the world too far. The only things that came in even numbers had no opposition. The Light Spirits, each for one point of the compass, for instance. Or the Sages, which were three plus three again, balancing themselves out. And even the Sages had a fabled seventh number.

Just when she thought she could pick up the pieces of her kingdom, Zelda received her vision.

Link would someday die beyond the borders of Hyrule. He would leave, and take Courage with him. Not a dire circumstance, for the Triforce always found its way back. But while he was gone, two pieces needed to remain to serve as majority, to equalize the loss of Courage in the land. One was gone, so two had to remain. In the same way the legends turned one piece against the world and led two more to balance the disaster, Power and Wisdom needed to remain behind while Courage was lost for a time.

Ganondorf could not die. His Triforce was still needed, lest Hyrule fall into an age of despair.

A mere day later, Midna departed Hyrule, shattering the Mirror of Twilight in the process.

The next morning, Link was gone, too. Presumably, to seek his dearest friend and possible interest. Zelda knew he would not return before he had found Midna, if he returned at all. She heard word that he had replaced the Master Sword, that he had said good-bye to Ilia and the Ordon children.

And with that he vanished, and Zelda was sure that she was all alone again.

Maybe not. Deep in the dungeons she could feel the vast magic of the surviving Evil King tremble and war. Asleep, he could not hide himself as his own divine power recovered him, Though she did wonder at the time elapsed. The stab wound itself was long healed clean; whatever else Power soothed it was unknown to her.

She visited every day: Ganondorf's only jailor. The irony was exquisite. The captive imprisoned her captor. But then again, because he still lived she really was in a gaol herself: one of her own making, created to keep him secret and her country safe. He had to live, and that was the trouble. But every day became the same to her. Fearing that the truth would get out. Covering her movements. Playing the political game and repairing her broken kingdom. Waiting for yet another catastrophe.

And so she wondered about it all. She considered removing his share of the Triforce, but that would kill him, and it was doubtful Power could persist without him: it was too deeply meshed into his soul.

A hundred years ago, how had he claimed Power at all? Old interpretations of sheikah lore stated that a corrupted, impure heart that touched the Triforce would sunder it and take nothing. Evil that would seek the Triforce wouldn't get an aspect at all; it was _imbalanced_ souls that would take only one shard of three to protect it. Evil was cowardly, caring only for itself out of weakness, without heeding any law or real quality. It had not true Power, Wisdom, or Courage to it. It had nothing. To claim a piece, one had to have at least a scrap of the pure virtue within already.

And yet the King of Evil had Power. It made little sense. By that point of view, the most ancient secrets of the gods could _almost_ be taken to imply that somewhere in there, there was something true enough to house divine might.

But that was absurd. Nothing like that could exist in him. Not in that madness she saw in his stare, that cold frenzy that only thinly cloaked itself behind complex words. The face and the mind were only a shroud for it-- the way the man himself bubbled up to the surface of the malignant depths.

She was thinking about all of this when she felt a huge tremor run through the castle's bones; a scintillating nova of raw sorcerous power. Its wake brought dark spots wavering before her inner eye. And then it vanished as he hid himself, no longer screaming for her to hear.

Down below, he had awoken.

–

The first thing he tried to do was kill her when she appeared before his cage. He roared and gathered hellfire to throw at her, but halfway through he realized that the cell was antimagic. So instead he flung himself at her, growling.

"No! Don't-"

He met the border of the cell with a violent discharge of restraining energy. He cried out and recoiled, having found a solid barrier that could have been made out of Light Arrows for its affect.

"You!" he hissed, staring at the wide bars that he could have snapped in an instant without the hissing field. And then, with frenzied eyes he slammed a fist against the wards and began to force it through, an attempt to sunder the spell. He bellowed in agony, but still he labored on even despite the extreme pain the wall struck to him.

"Stop!" Zelda said, fearful. "Don't do this!"

He gave no heed of her but for the agonized tears streaming from his eyes, so desperate was he to reach the outside.

"You'll kill yourself again!"

And she laid a hand on where he began to break through. He looked up from his efforts and faced her eye to eye, and for a moment she could see a primal fear in him. A cage. Unable to escape. Mostly omnipotent as he was, a prison he could not rend apart must have broken him.

And Zelda was horrified to feel that she could, in some way, relate.

He withdrew his fist, and collapsed to the floor, shaking. The pain leaked into his normally strong voice, cracking it even more than usual.

"Leave me," he ordered. "Leave now. Go."

Zelda left as he requested, but returned the next day. He paid her no mind, only furiously tried to find some way out of the cell. There was none. And after a few minutes, Zelda would leave: satisfied that he was still alive and coldly apathetic of the varied threats he would make to her.

And so the time passed: every day the same as the one before it.

–


	3. Chapter 3

It took two weeks, but eventually he gave up on trying to physically smash his way out of the cell. He had forced every avenue of attack to no avail. Zelda knew this because instead of giving her a dirty look and going back to pounding the magic walls one day, he stood and looked down at her neutrally when she appeared before his confinement.

"Why do you come?" he asked bluntly of her.

Zelda did not reply, only startled that he would speak to her at all.

"Is this prison not enough? Do you mean to mock me?"

"No!" Zelda said, a little too sharply. She gathered herself up again. "Nothing like that."

The man raised his arms and gave a small, crazed laugh. "Then what?" he intoned, bitterly ironic. "Why this cage? Was being dead not good enough for me?"

Zelda flinched but stood her ground. No, she could not yield to this. She had to be firm. "I only want to check on you. I am the only one who knows you're still alive. If the people knew, it would be chaos." She paused. "You... you don't even remember what happened, do you?"

"I was dead at the time," he said heavily. "You expect me to?"

"I was hoping you would, somehow," said Zelda. "I didn't bring you back to life to shame you, King of Evil. I didn't revive you at all. Power did."

He stared. "It shouldn't have," he muttered. "It left... Zant... and... no..."

His mumblings trailed off into a flat growl and he grasped the iron bars threateningly. "I will escape," he snarled. "It is only a matter of time."

"I know."

Zelda left, unable to say much more. She kept the frosted marble face until she was safely back in her own chambers. Then she allowed herself to shudder as her heart did. He was right. Her spells would not hold forever. But they would hold as long as she could keep them, and that was the best she could do.

But at least he had not heard her words that evening after his death. She really had been speaking them to a corpse, in that moment of weakness that she was still cursing even after all of the time that had passed. He had not heard her apology that had been meant to rest his soul. Even so, Zelda was not sure she wanted him to have heard. The awkward questions would be more than enough to cause her to panic.

She flopped on her own bed, shoes and all. Her hair mussed instantly. And she sighed. Why, she wondered, was she cursed to just be a young woman when her mind sometimes felt a thousand years old? At times she was as if she had no age: was just a thing that existed to be a game piece on some immeasurably complex field of play.

It confused her at the best of times. It let her be perhaps the most competent ruler her country had seen for a long time, to the bewilderment of the court. But being Sovereign Lady was a cruel mask that she desperately wished to shed from time to time. And she could not, because the feeling of timelessness in her stream of thought would never let her abandon the fact that she was Zelda, Princess of Hyrule and Bearer of Wisdom.

Ironically, she wished the opposite all of a sudden. To be able to retreat into that steadfast, ageless strength of will that had no emotions and no limitations. But unfortunately, she was also Zelda the Maiden, long past coming-of-age but desperate to simply act as she wished to act. Nineteen years, almost twenty. Yet still just a girl.

It didn't matter how she felt or what she kept secret from the world. Being Zelda the Maiden was a superficial state of being, one that was lesser than Zelda the Princess: concerned with only her single self rather than with the whole of her people. And she would bear the sacrifice if it meant that the majority was safe. That was the duty of the ruler, the one that most critics would forget, she knew. When the final act came, she was the last of the royal family: the last one standing and the only one standing in the way of perhaps a second coming of Evil.

Not that Zelda particularly wanted to deal with the worst case scenario at the moment. At the moment, she just wanted to fly away from all of her troubles, to not have to deal with all of the hissing, creeping chaos. Especially not The Lord of Darkness.

But she still saw him the next day. The trouble with being a playing piece was that they had no use once the game was decided. She decided that she may as well keep track of the losing side.

–

She found him pacing, as he usually did. He looked like a confined beast most of the time, weaving back and forth before the bars of his cell. He strode, Reaching the end, snapping in the other direction and immediately looking up at her arrival through the warped door. He stared at her as he always did, scrutinizing her sharply. Zelda made to leave again as normal but he spoke.

"You're not done here yet," he said forcefully. "I wish to speak with you."

Zelda froze. "Oh?"

He looked at her very seriously. "Why am I still alive?"

"I don't--"

"Do not pretend to be ignorant," he scolded. "I can taste that lie in the air even before you say it."

Zelda paused and bit her lip. Then she gave him the truth.

"The Hero is gone," she said, knowing she had put her foot into a nest of adders. "Courage will someday pass out of this world for a time. To keep Hyrule in check, you were revived. Power has to remain here, at least for a little while. It can't move on to the afterlife before Courage does, or else the balance of magic will be disturbed."

He was silent, and his only motion was clenching his fist. Zelda could feel her aspect of the Triforce pulse with proximity to the one within his essence, so subtle it could be forgotten.

"You do realize what this means?" she asked rhetorically. Of course he did. "It means that whether you escape or not, your window of opportunity is closed. You can't take the Triforce, even if you take Wisdom from me. It will not reform in this lifetime. It is safe."

Before speaking he seemed to deeply contemplate something. When he opened his mouth his words were slow, methodical, but still biting. He did not blink as he said them, but locked her eyes with his yellow, predatory stare.

"The Gods are cruel. After the curtain's drawn on this damned mockery, the players are still playing. You barely had your own part to act, and I botched mine. Now they condemn us both to continue after the end."

"Poetry will not soften my heart, and you know it," Zelda said harshly. "Courtly words make you seem no less mad to me."

But, for a heartbeat, he did not seem mad. Zelda thought she was imagining it. He only looked miserable.

And so he frowned. "When you are put into a cage, you will understand exactly what separates beast from man. If my words are fine, I only make them that way to widen the divide."

There it was again. An echo of a thinker in him, fighting to reach the surface of some lava lake. His manner of speech suggested more than a barbarian. And every now and again there was a spark of deeper understanding in his eyes, perhaps hidden in the black pupils. Something moved behind there, something sharp like a razorblade and precise like a masterwork machine. But every time she was sure she could try and weed it out it was gone again, replaced by muddling clouds of contempt.

"Hmph," Zelda said. "What happened to all of your dramatics, Dark Lord? All of your talk of Light and Shadow?

He did not waver, but snarled and grasped his prison threateningly. "I died."

--

"A moment."

He had begun to talk to her more, Zelda noticed. She couldn't decide if that was welcome or unwelcome. One one hand, he seemed less inclined to try and strike at the bars. On the other hand, something about his presence sent oily trickles down her spine. It shouldn't have been right to speak with such a man this way, a man that every myth, legend, dark whisper in the corner of a pub, spoke of as pure malice incarnate. Even if his name was lost to the people.

Never mind the fact that after entire days of sorting through endless state affairs and other tortures, speaking with him was fascinating in a perverse sort of way. She couldn't say she enjoyed it: just the opposite, in fact. But she couldn't muster the heart to turn away when he asked more of her. Seeing this man, the most dangerous man in centuries, caught and held like an insect under a cup was darkly intriguing to her.

"You have one," Zelda replied.

"I want a wash basin."

Zelda wrinkled her brow. "Pardon?"

"A wash basin." Ganondorf crossed his arms.

"I know what it is," Zelda frowned. "Why do you want one?"

He looked at her dryly. "So that I may wash."

Zelda blushed a raw pink. There was also this maddening quality he possessed that the more childish part of her hated even more than his reputation. Nobody had made her feel like an idiot in years. She had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be made a fool of. Zelda did not appreciate it at all, and it maddened her that this man was able to do it so easily, so casually.

Men deemed great of mind bored her on a regular basis. Yet this one, mad as a raging bull, somehow pulled a vast wit out of nowhere from time to time. It did not help that most of what he said startled her and provoked words that she immediately wanted to take back. Asking what to do with a washing basin? She felt like leaving then and there and dumping _her_ basin over her own head.

And so she stood, dumbfounded for a moment. She tried to speak, but Ganondorf cut her off bluntly. "Or, as your prisoner, I don't deserve one?" Still no answer, for she bit her tongue and folded her stiff arms angrily. "Regardless of what you may believe, Princess, I don't like being covered in filth more than anyone else."

The request wasn't unfounded. He hadn't washed since he had revived, and that had been weeks prior. The dried blood had flaked off of him, but time didn't do anything for personal hygiene.

"And why should I give you special treatment from the other prisoners?" Zelda asked.

"Special treatment? Surely you throw them in the moat every once in a while," he said sardonically. Zelda blinked. Was that... humor?

But it was gone even before the sound of his voice dissipated on the cold stones. Immediately he glared again. "Because when I do escape this cage, perhaps I will feel less inclined to rip your pretty throat out if you humor me this once."

"If you give me empty threats, you'll get nothing at all," Zelda retorted. "Would it kill you to be civil?"

He snarled. Zelda hated how his face was subtly different every time she visited him, although always the same: with a single present quality to it. The ugliness of it depended on his mercurial mood. It reminded her that he was within a reconstructed mortal shell, and of the horrifying fact that he had not settled on a face yet. He might as well not have had one: been the blazing phantom that had roared in the throne room and nearly smothered Midna to death, even in the face of the Fused Shadows.

"Pardon me," he said, not seeking pardon at all. "Normally, I would wash this filth off in the hotsprings by the badlands at the edge of the desert."

His expression was an image of rage.

"A pity your army trampled them en route to slaughter my people."

That did it. Zelda grit her teeth and apported herself away as fast as she could touch the magic. She did not bother to use the door. How dare he! He knew just as well as her that she was not behind... she was not the one who...

She burst into the laundry, startling a few washing maids. They squeaked and straightened up as they saw their princess stride in; they were completely unprepared, taken by surprise. "Your Highness-!" one of them gasped, but was unable to finish whatever she had to say.

"Find the largest clean bath you can, quickly," she ordered and they scampered away in an instant to return with a massive wooden basin used for washing linens. "Fill it with hot water."

"For, er, sheets, m'lady?"

"For man," Zelda corrected. "With all of the appropriate soaps and tools, preferably the best you can find. Handsomely now. I am not leaving until I have it."

And, with more than a little confusion, the water was heated by cauldron and the massive bath was filled. The oils were added, and the soaps put in a neat dish as if a visiting diplomat had for some reason requested to bathe with his horse. There was certainly room.

When it was finally done, Zelda tested the water's temperature with a finger and deemed the steaming vat of fine bathwater satisfactory. Promptly she blinked it to Ganondorf's cell in the dungeons and imagined the look on his face, hoping that she had at least struck him on the head when it came to. Nobody mocked her, she thought darkly as she thanked the maids for aiding her with 'a troubling and bizarre matter of state.' And so she made her way through the halls serenely, the rest of the castle unaware that she had just startled the lives out of two housestaff to cut a barb to an ancient, furious evil.

Ha! Let him have his washing basin. Let him have the whole bath if he wants. For all the good it'll do.

As she was trying to think of ways to humiliate him further the next day, a stubborn corner of her mind pointed out that to take the bath he would have to remove the damn armor he still, after all of the time passed, was wearing. And his clothes. And he would have to pour the steaming-hot water over himself and

She stopped herself before she pictured something that would make her retch. Ugh, she thought in disgust. If there was anything that needed a good scrubbing, it was her idle imagination. It was times like the present one to her that she found herself desperately wishing she wasn't mortal and didn't have to suffer herself drawing such traumatizing conclusions.

It only got worse the next evening when she paid her nightly visit, expecting to be smug over the wash basin fiasco. But when she got there all she was met by was the man's broad, diabolic smirk on a version of his face that wasn't quite as anger-ugly as usual. He had not forced his flaming hair back into the tight coils he had favored before, and it hung loose to his shoulders becomingly. And even she had to admit he smelled very nice to her.

It was in that way Ganondorf got the last word in without so much as uttering a sound. And Zelda cursed the fact that they both had to survive, for jumping out a tower window and ending it all was beginning to look more and more appealing to her.


	4. Chapter 4

A whole month passed.

Zelda was sure he was plotting something. He had to be. It was the only explanation. Oh, he might have fooled anybody else. But not her. It was a conspiracy. It had to be.

There was no other way to explain the weird brightening in his eyes. There were other things that bothered her, too. Such as the decrease in his pacing, how he seemed to wait for her to appear. How his voice was shedding the disturbed sandpaper rasp as he began to roar and snarl less and less. How their brief, cutting exchanges gradually to lengthened and how he was starting to draw them out.

But it was was the eyes that got her. It was not so much a hunch as experience, Wisdom, something, pointing out to her that mischief was going on behind her back. All of those other things were just ways the thing that made the tiny flicker behind his eyes kindle stronger every time she saw him. He was hiding his rage the more that light built brighter. His fine speech became less guarded, more earnest, and he did not act monstrous half the time. Sometimes he attempted to be something akin to pleasant. The instances where she saw through the fog over his eyes were lengthening, and there was something truly frightening underneath. An unknown.

All punctuated by the occasional death threat, of course. But even those were becoming less frequent and more sarcastic: insincere.

"Good evening, Princess," he said casually to her, barely giving a second glance from where he marked a tally of days. He was counting them. "The Zora are troubling you again, I see."

Zelda raised an eyebrow and sat on the stool she had eventually placed down there for herself. "You can't even see the sun down here, and you know what politics I've been wrestling all day. You would, wouldn't you?"

He looked up. There was a glitter in the depths and she quietly shuddered. "You are wearing one of your evening gowns, which means that not only do you have visitors but that it is night." he paused. "That gown is warm and for the fall, and by my count it's still summer. Which means you had to meet whoever you met with in a cold room. The Zora do not like heat, and only they would have the nerve to demand special treatment from the royal family."

Damn him, Zelda thought. Two seconds and he's already trying to make a fool out of me.

They faced each other down, eye to eye. Zelda had learned his were a sort of barometer, telltale and the only thing he could not mask. There was a cruel, pulsing intelligence in them that had begun to frighten her. She had never seen it before, but recently it had begun to protrude through his guarded and hateful facade. When, she wondered, had he developed such a sharpness of mind? It was only the immoral curiosity and fascination with keeping and observing him that she continued visiting his cell day after day.

She had convinced herself long ago that she went only to make sure he had not tried to end himself. But she was sorely tempted to leave him and never grace his presence again, for every time she returned his intellect seemed to increase. It had started as a trickle: scattered comments, sudden bouts of wit behind the wooden poetics. But as she saw him again and again over days he steadily grew and sharpened until he no longer hid behind dogged eloquence but wielded true reason against her. Some days, after particularly heated debates the night previous, he improved in leaps and bounds.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?" she said flatly. In addition to the sudden sophistication of thought, he seemed to come up with a new capacity for generating endless ways to irritate her.

"No, but you're due any moment now," he said lazily. "Come. What do the fish-men want this time?"

Zelda was getting the suspicion it was _she_ who was the defining factor. She appeared in the evening and his attention at once, devoted entirely to her. She was the only person who he had seen in weeks, after all. But he was no ordinary prisoner; she almost could feel him basking in her presence, drinking of her, growing ever stronger, surer of mind, sharper of thought.

"They want support. Their queen was murdered within the past year, and the prince is not old enough to rule them. Times are difficult for them, and I wish I could help them more. But there is only so much I can do for them."

Ganondorf sighed and looked at the ceiling. "They want gifts that you cannot afford to give to them."

"In part," she said. "They also protest repairing the bridge across Lake Hylia until their prince is old enough to negotiate it himself. We need that bridge to get harvests to Castle Town..."

"So use that to gain their favor," Ganondorf said carefully. "Buy time until the early autumn months, at which point they won't have a choice but to let you repair the bridge for the harvest."

Zelda scoffed. "Surely that idea doesn't involve freezing them solid?"

"Zant froze the Zora. I was not involved. At the time, I was rebuilding this body for myself," he said tersely. "No, fool. Persuade them that to give them the gifts they need you will require time to gather the resources. They will sympathize with you, if you are artful. They will eagerly let you keep up the bridge if they believe it will give them profit later."

They stared at each other for a few moments longer. Zelda could not believe she was being counseled in politics by a nefarious man famous for being a warlord and not a diplomat. Ganondorf seemed to notice her discomfort.

"I have frozen the Zora and the river before. It did not turn out well," he said almost without tone. "If they decide to cut off the river, things will not be comfortable for you. The harvest will be scanter than it already is. End this before your lands become a waste."

And Zelda, despite herself, agreed. "I'll think about it."

And she turned to leave.

"A moment."

Zelda stopped. It was the routine. He would stay her one second before she walked out the door and deliver one last parting shot. He did all he could to lengthen the time she was in his presence. To what ends, she did not know. But it was from that doubt where she began to get the idea the sharpening flames in his stare were more than just disorganized insanity. It had to do with some obtuse plot she had not yet grasped, she was sure of it.

"Is there anything new of interest in the library?" he asked seriously. "And would it be too bold for your delicate sensibilities to ask you to borrow something for me?"

Zelda wrinkled her nose. "Yes, there is some new material," she said. "And no, you may not have any of it."

She slammed the door on the room with his cell in it. She stamped down the guilty feeling as soon as it assaulted her. Absolutely not, she assured herself. He was a prisoner. The library was out of the question.

He had wheedled several things out of her as the days passed. Regular washing, frequent baths. More food, and better food: good meat and beer, warm bread, fresh vegetables. And an ever-lengthening period of time she spent speaking with him, though still brief as it was. But books, items he could use or destroy? Out of the question. When he was through with the wooden bath he overturned it and Zelda would send it away the next day. Letting him more than that was asking for trouble.

Ganondorf was more than displeased with her choice. The next day he ignored her completely when she arrived. And the day after that was the same. He would not speak with her. At the very best he would stare at her with a petulant, hateful leer that made her want to leave immediately.

Although she would die before she admitted it, Zelda was secretly saddened. For all the distrust she had for the insufferable man, the visits nightly were a thing she looked forward to. Again, part of the sinister conspiracy. It had to be. There was no way that she, sane and sound of mind, could have thought those traitorous thoughts. One did not 'miss' the King of Evil. Especially not a princess. It was not done.

But in a way, talking with the madman was keeping her going though the banal torture of her normal day. Stepping into that room was removed from everything: surreal, a world where nothing really mattered except the fact that he was in a cage and she was not. Zelda found she actually thirsted for the hassle he would give her. Nobody but him was able to provoke her so, push her wits to new heights, last so long in a battle of words against her. She craved the challenge, having finally found one person able to keep pace with her. And when that was taken away her mind mourned the loss.

Even to hear his voice! Just that little thing. Perhaps not even words, maybe just a snarl or a dry non-laugh. Once his hoarseness had finally cleared up, the voice had grown on her: luxuriously dark and ear-pleasing. She associated it with contention, and maybe even in the depths in her mind, excitement. Because whenever she heard it, it heralded his opposition to her argument. She hated it, but whenever he spoke her pulse sped, mind raced, anticipating some vicious cutting remark that had to be reversed.

And he would not speak. It defeated her, if only in private.

It was a conspiracy. It had to be.


	5. Chapter 5

After a few disappointing days of hateful silence Zelda decided not to even visit at all. Instead, she remained in her room as any normal woman would on a lonely evening. She attempted to read a book, to keep serenity and not miss his achingly saturnine words, the layered timbre of his voice. She succeeded, at least for a little while. But after an hour of dogged wrestling with text the print began to dull and run together, fall off the page, bounce off her eyes and evade her mind. She could not keep reading: her limbs were restless, her mind was too full of protests.

She closed the book and felt that it was boring anyway. She got up from the seat and laid the text, bookmark and all, down on her bed. What to do? Sleep, perhaps? The moon was climbing high in her east window.

But she did not feel tired. She knew that if she decided to try and rest all she would get would be more hours spent staring at nothing. A walk, perhaps? Yes, that would do. She would tire herself out walking the halls of the castle, and then she would be able to sleep.

Beyond the guards on watch, the grounds were deserted. She still only employed the barest staff while the damage to the castle was repaired. Zant and Ganondorf both had smote it in mad fits, desperate to make it difficult for insurgents to storm. It was only because she could move herself with magic was she able to reach certain towers and rooms.

She tried to clear her mind as she walked, tried to think of nothing at all. But she snapped to attention as she noticed her feet took her downward. She descended stairs, going where she willed without a marked conscious decision.

Her feet were taking her to the dungeons. She stopped and turned to leave before a creeping curiosity bit her. She was late. Would that make him speak? Would he insult her? Would missing her predictable time provoke him enough?

The warped door creaked as she pushed it in, sharp in the almost total silence of the dungeons at night. Ugh, she despaired. There was no wordplay or struggle tonight. He was just as silent as he was the day before, probably staring out at her from the shadowed corner with disdain--

He groaned softly. Zelda peered through the bars to make out his crumpled form, stuffed into a corner. No, he was asleep. From the barely-visible rise of breath, he was quite deeply asleep.

He needed sleep? Of course he did, she thought. His body was mortal, it needed renewal every so often. It seemed he had not missed her at all. He merely had decided to rest. It infuriated her. Where had this stupid fantasy come from, that he would beg to see her, would grovel? He was above that. He had his dignity, and breaking it would be nothing but unrealistic.

And it was a cruel daydream indeed to think about the most powerful being in a hundred years submissive at her feet. Zelda immediately was ashamed.

He twitched in his shadowed place, a tiny sound muffled in the back of his throat. He slept soundly, if fitfully. Coming down here was not satisfying, and she made to leave. But leaving would be even less so, she thought. And she was still not tired, and wouldn't be able to rest.

She moved herself inside the cell. It was a wild fit of fancy, she knew. And more than dangerous. But he was fast asleep and probably would not rouse any time soon. The light of her small candle lit him more clearly than the dim smoldering bracket on the wall outside.

For a moment she saw him dead again. The same relaxed face, shed of it's hateful tics and lines and smoothed over clean. The same almost-peaceful expression he had worn for a moment when she had closed his eyes. Then he scowled and clenched his jaw, face shifting a little in its transience. He squirmed, muttered, and turned his head from the side straight to the ceiling. Not slain. Just resting.

Zelda lowered the candle and stooped to study him. It was unlikely she would ever have another opportunity to get so close, and it was too good to pass up. It was an almost juvenile fascination, like sticking her arm into a dodongo's mouth. Probably unwise. But just to prove it could be done, she did it. He moaned and tossed again, flopping an arm over himself and clenching a fist.

It wasn't that that made her almost recoil, but the fact that he began to speak. It took a moment to realize that he was still unaware, that the words meant nothing. They were babble, sleep-talk, nonsense. Still he, grumbled on.

"No," he groaned. "What happened here...? Come... come back... can't... be..."

It should have just been nonsense, Zelda felt. But what was this slithering dread in her gullet, she wondered? The words invoked a horror she could not explain.

"I must get back must must... must escape... Anyone, is there no one... no one out there... listen to me, you must, if you're there... anybody, please, do not say I am alone... come back..."

Zelda flashed back to his death for a moment, his revival, the single sound he had uttered. It was as if that tiny burst of emotion had expanded, playing havoc with him. And Zelda, entranced but absolutely mortified, couldn't seem to look away or leave him. She was transfixed, mesmerized with the fright of it all. So much that he had to say at that second, weeks ago. And most of it was unsaid, on his part just as much as hers.

"I won't look these aren't my eyes, ... stop, I must stop, I can't lose... can't lose this... it's all so clear... not there again, I don't want... I have control now, you won't take it from me, never...don't want to be... as before... you will obey; I command you to stop, stop... why can't I stop...?"

His hands had migrated to his face, and he clutched at himself, digging nails into his scalp. Still, he did not wake. His deep, silent breaths persisted. Only, his voice spoke out loud from whatever torture he faced beyond the waking world. Zelda could not picture what he saw that made him, the terror of terrors himself, recoil and writhe in such a way. But from the madness she knew from him she could almost guess. He could have seen any number of things. The extermination of his sisters. The trial of the sages. His imprisonment. His own actions, even.

It was that pity, Zelda lamented. She pitied him; perhaps she could not help it. The sight of him weakened and reduced to such a frenzy was pathetic, touched a bruised corner of her heart. It was tragic, wrong, even. The Lord of Darkness should have been just that: Darkness. The fact that he was cursed with the capacity to be hurt in this way was awful in her eyes. It should not have been. Monsters did not see night-terrors. Only men did.

Zelda laid light fingertips on the stitched doubling he wore; he did not sleep in his armor. She fancied she could feel a pulse beneath her fingers, even through the thick cloth. She touched him, she realized, and he could do nothing. It amazed her. She moved, so bold as to place a white-satin hand over his own: tiny and delicate against his.

"Be at peace," Zelda whispered.

By the flickering light of the candle, the shadow contours of his face stood out sharply. For that reason, it was blatant and noticeable as he trailed off mid-torture into silence, his trembling muscles suddenly steadied. Then, Zelda froze as his other hand slowly reached, closed over hers, grasped it. His eyes were open a tiny fraction: not truly seeing, but somehow roused and active in sleep.

"I am at peace," he said. "Zelda."

In an instant, Zelda was gone and back in her room, heart hammering against her ribs. Fear, she convinced herself. It was fear.

She picked up the book on her bed and stared at it lamely. Then she promptly seized magic and flung it into Ganondorf's cell down below, even if only to get it out of her sight.

And she tried to sleep that night, but was not successful.

–

She did not see him the day after that, and she heard no protests from the dungeons because of it. In that time, Zelda occupied herself with attempting to make well of the missives from various provinces and lordships, all skeptical at her ability to lead.

They were mobilizing, she feared. News from the southeast Holodrum indicated as such: the nation had been trading machines for a long time, and there had been a sudden increase in the market for Holodrum gunpowder. Which then set the Gorons off, because it took business away from them.

She rubbed her temples as she descended the winding dungeon stairs. The Zora and their demands were the least of her problems. If there was anything she could not afford, it was war. Within her country or between Hyrule and some surrounding territory, both possibilities were unpleasant. There had not been such a simmering cauldron of potential conflict in two hundred years. And the last one had climaxed in a war to end all other wars-- and as a ruler she had no intention of treating her people to a repeat.

She closed the door as quietly as she could and turned the cell block, anxiously awaiting a comment. A remark on the book. A simple good-day. Surely she had broken his foul spirits.

Zelda laid eyes on the form of his turned back. Bare, dark, in well-cut shape. He had hewn a great slab of stone from the floor somehow and with only the slightest hint of exertion he lifted it above his head, sending the skin rippling over him. In the hazy light, he was slick and shining with sweat.

The questions of how in hell he had managed to sunder stone with his bare hands, and how nobody had noticed in the room above, died instantly in her mind. Her mouth felt dry and sticky, and she swallowed her breath as he moved and worked. Of course he had demanded better rations; he had been keeping his weight up. And the sight of it all filled her eyes, pushing most everything else out of her thoughts. At that moment, she was Zelda herself, not Zelda the Princess. And he at that instant was not The King of Evil, but just a sight before her eyes she drank of in pure wonder.

Technically, she knew what a man in only breeches was supposed to look like. She had been conditioned to know, not to falter when she married. But what he bore under the armor shoved the technical details out of her mind completely, blowing them all away by virtue of pure superiority.

He began to turn around-- his eyes were closed as he worked, satisfied self-absorbed smile twitching under exertion. And Zelda only pleaded that he would not stop and shift back to the wall, even though she knew it was wrong. Yes, she thought. Further, further... Damn who it is; it's only curiosity. It can't hurt.

And fortune favored her for he soon faced her in all of his glory. Bulging muscles steamed from exertion: not grotesque but healthy and well-shaped. He had not the taper-waist or the papery shrunken skin of the strongmen that came before the court from time to time: his massiveness was an honest one, built upon him from more than hours of work but also a difficult life. His body clenched and tensed, bound tight with iron and wire that took the form of warm, bronze flesh.

Zelda's unbound mind wondered what it would be like to touch his stomach, feel the smooth strength in definition. For some reason her lessons insisted that men were covered in coarse hair everywhere, and from the size and masculinity of him Zelda had previously thought Ganondorf must have been, too. But, as a desert dweller, he had little of that scratchy unpleasantness. There was a patch over his breast that sprouted a soft growth of sun-red, as well as a fine trail that trickled down from his navel, disappearing below his belt and down into the virile swell between his--

"Ahem."

Zelda snapped up back to meet his eyes, now that he was no longer preoccupied. She blushed furiously; she must have invented a new shade of pink, she thought, mortified. And the more awkward she felt, the more his smile grew into a cruel, sharp-fanged grin. She should not have liked the grin as much as she did, and she protested in her mind. No, she thought, no, no, no. He's not like that, he doesn't count, he's not possible. He's trying to trap you, to distract you. However he looks, he is ugly inside. That was what Zelda the Princess cried at her. It is not proper, not acceptable. This man has murdered people of your line, slaughtered innocents, is a monster and unfit and a prisoner as he deserves.

I'm a prisoner, too, Zelda herself whispered back. And no matter who he is, Goddesses, he is blinding.

He put down the boulder and regarded her more closely. "The book was fascinating," He shifted and folded his arms over his broad chest, sending muscles sliding pleasantly into firm shape. "I knew you would see things my way eventually."

Zelda nodded weakly. Her face was wan.

"Would it be much more trouble if you could lend me another?"

"No," she said mechanically. She desperately grasped for control of her throat and failed. "Not... not at all."

"Excellent," he said. "Is that all?"

She turned to leave, not daring to open her mouth again. Too much energy was going into scrubbing her mind of the sight burned into her eyes. Disgusting, she convinced herself, or at least tried to. She was not having much success.

"A moment."

Predictably, she froze. And this time, prayed for the gods to save her. She looked back at him one last time, which was a mistake. He had picked up his boulder again, and put the image back where she had tried to erase it. "What?" she asked, irritable from the whole disaster.

"When you do have the chance," he said casually. "I would prefer a nonfiction."

Zelda fled. He was playing her like an instrument, and she knew it.


	6. Chapter 6

_Retreat_!

Zelda stalked about her study restlessly. After days in a carriage and horseback, she was tired but aching to act. But simply relieving her physical anxiety was no answer to her problems.

_We will meet with the 2nd Mage Corps and regroup! Quickly!_

Her own words burrowed into her mind: ear-worms among the chaotic memory of black powder shot, the smoke, the snap of slivered breaking wood. Shouts. Fleeing men, her men. The failed fortifications. Evacuating Kakariko. The Gorons' fruitless aid.

_Do not look back!_

She had lost the Eldin province. Kakariko and the surrounding villages and farms had been evacuated, and the Gorons sealed safely in their mountain. Holodrum had struck quickly, with the help of several defecting units of the Hyrule Royal Army, and crippled any sort of weak border security that was still maintained. War was unheard of; Holodrum had been a peaceful, if reclusive ally for many years. Their land was a very different one from Hyrule: once, it had harbored the Goddesses' magic but no longer. The inhabitants were humans, and kept to themselves.

The High Prince of Holodrum had sent her a formal marriage proposal not long ago, expressing concern at the time Hyrule had been blanketed by Twilight, suggesting that she accept their strength. But Zelda was no weak ruler: she saw even through the text that Holodrum's prince meant to take advantage of her position as a young, unmarried woman at the head of a prosperous country.

Zelda might have accepted, but she did not humor people who did not bother to honor her with their presence when they asked to wed. Though clearly, to Holodrum, that would not do.

And Zelda had to face the facts. Her country was growing weak, stagnant. The times of peace had taken the strength from Hyrule's army. Her knights were glorified noblemen, left over from her father's reign. Her soldiers were unused to anything more than border patrol and guard duty. She had faced this fact once before, when Zant and his whirlwind coup had swept her halls. Now she was forced to face it again.

Not only that, but Hyrule suffered. The Twilight Occupation had taken more out of her lands than she would have liked to admit. The river's levels were still low, and the Zora were in turmoil. The harvests would be poor this year. Many monsters still roamed, master-less and unchecked. Oh, how she wished the Hero were still around! No sign of him had turned up since his departure. Link had truly vanished.

And the whispers. Any commander would have lost Eldin, she knew. Taken by surprise, by the previously-unknown war-machines of Holodrum. Mages could fight them easily, but there simply weren't enough well-trained spell-casters to go around at the time of invasion. But still the fingers pointed, the rumors spread. Zelda was an unfit commander. No young woman should lead an army, they criticized. She could not do it. She was no king.

The unrest was dangerous. Her country couldn't afford to lose faith at such an important time. She would do all she could to protect her people, but she could not do that if they made it difficult for her to do so. She could fight the enemy, she knew. But she couldn't fight both the enemy and her own people at once.

Zelda's feet ached. She almost laughed at the irony-- she was pacing. As Ganondorf had done, trapped in his cage. She had nowhere to go, so she simply went around in circles like a dog in a kennel. There was no way out.

She felt the strong ambient hum of presence far below, sealed below the castle. He was oblivious; he didn't know. He couldn't have. An army was marching on Hyrule and the King of Evil was still down below, ignorant to it.

Or...?

No, that was a horrible idea, she reprimanded herself. That was worse than the army. Mortal soldiers were as nothing compared to unleashing that kind of darkness on the world again. It would be like burning a house to rid it of bugs. In the end, she would come out much, much worse.

But there is no other way, she thought. There really is no other way to drive them back. Nobody in a hundred years has the sort of knowledge we need to defeat a marching army, aside from perhaps myself. But I'm only one woman, and all the theory in the world won't save us if we need experience. We have not warred in over a century. We have no more tacticians, no more leaders, no more mighty battle-magic coming from the schools, and we haven't had any over all our years of peace. That was the Hero's burden, to uncover the magic left behind over centuries. And now the Hero is gone.

Ganondorf predates this trouble. He was erased from common knowledge at his execution, his people lost to obscurity once they were all gone. We stamped him and his kind out completely, out of memory, in hopes that he would never be born again, be bred. Not even historians remember the details of the Fierce War, other than that it was dark and terrible.

But I do. And in those times, before he was condemned to die, he was a legend. A true god of war.

We need him. If not, our darkest hour will come not from the workings of black magic or demon deities. It will be by simple soldiers and mechanical weapons. After all this country has faced lately, that would be an embarrassment to the gods.

It was a horrid idea, she knew. But it was the best one that she could think of. She moved herself to the dungeons before she could dissuade herself. Walking there would just allow time to rethink the decision. She popped back into existence right outside Ganondorf's cell. He was leaning against a corner, working through one of the many books she had left for him. Through trial and error, based on the books he liked and ones he had not cared for, she had figured out what his taste was.

It coincided with hers a little more than she thought was entirely comfortable.

"You," he said, not looking up from his page, "have been gone for ten days."

His tally-marks sprawled over the stone walls. Zelda noticed that a few amid the many were further marked black with ash. Ten of them were in a bunch on the far wall, along with a few scattered singles. Days that she had not shown up to see him. She blinked, counting them at a glance. Had it really been that long he had been down here? Three months? He certainly did not look like a prisoner, thinned and paled. No, in fact he filled his clothes a mite better than when he had been first placed in the cell. His black breeches, cut slightly loose, were beginning to stretch tautly across the definition of his hips.

Zelda snapped back to attention. Stop, she told herself. It hardly matters how well he kept himself when he was being a raving lunatic and smashing the castle. Don't think of him and that damned boulder he lifts to pass the time. You have to pay attention.

"Yes, I have," Zelda admitted. "And you need to know why."

And she told him. At first she felt only able to give the barest summary, but soon he set down his book and inquired more deeply. Soon she was divulging every detail to him, the cause of the war, the unfit state of the army, the marriage proposal. A flash of anger ghosted over him as she spoke about the High Prince and his asking after her dowry. But as she related it all to him, spilling her heart out over it, he said nothing save to ask for clarification. No insults, no sneering, no cruel remarks.

Zelda almost wanted to scream at him for acting so _sane_.

By the end of the long, complicated story, Ganondorf sprawled back bitterly, scowling at her. It caused his face to break from the nearly-pleasant interest into something ugly again. "And why does this concern me?" he asked, gesturing with a hand at the enclosed cell, at the bars, the tally-marks, his ever-growing boulder, the latrine in the corner.

"I have... I have a proposal for you, Ganondorf."

She nearly clamped her tongue down over the words, and she flinched as a change came over the man within the cell. The sound had been magic; he straightened with interest, hungry anticipation nearly dripping from every pore. Like a caged beast that had heard jangling keys, he stood and placed his hands on the bars longingly, gripping them until his knuckles paled. And he stared at her, waiting...

"Go on," he said impatiently. His words were a demand, overflowing with a violent yearning.

"I've already explained the situation to you, and our difficult position. We have not had to fight a war in over a century. We have no mighty military leaders, or even ones that know even the basics of more than a border dispute," Zelda said, businesslike. "You are Ganondorf. You have fought, mastered the greatest hell in recorded history and lived to tell the tale. My knowledge of warfare is strictly theoretical. Yours isn't."

"Get to the point," he demanded.

Zelda cleared her throat. "I will make a deal with you, Ganondorf," she began. "I will let you free. No tricks, none of that."

"The catch?"

He was no fool.

"You will be my High General, and we will force back Holodrum. No matter your intentions, you can not possibly want to see Hyrule overrun. Or, at least, by anybody not yourself. You will harm only those I tell you to harm. You will help those I will tell you to help. And I will listen to you when it comes to matters of war-- nothing more."

He took a wide pause, as if mulling it over. Then, he laughed: a sweeter laugh than she had ever heard form him before, but still barbed. "Well played, princess. Surely your enemies cannot stand against even your pathetic army with myself at the front." He slid against the bars, grinning. "Though how can you be sure that I will not turn on you after this one meager task is through?

"The Triforce is not able to gather, and you know it."

"What if that is not what I want?"

"You surely don't want Hyrule in this state. It's still ruined from the Twilight Occupation."

He shook his head. "And if that is not what I want, either?"

"If you kill me, Hyrule's province will crumble until the next lifetime. If you imprison me, the people will rise up and your reign will be barren and pointless. What's one disliked ruler over another one?" She raised an eyebrow, unbudging. "You will also have no one to talk to. Act against me, and I will make sure you will be utterly alone."

His dream-speech weeks before clung in her mind. Being alone, he spoke of, among other things. He did not want to be alone anymore. It was why he marked the times when she did not appear in black, why he cared at all if she was here or if she was elsewhere. It was a gamble to make such an assumption, but that risk was one she was willing to take.

He contemplated this until the greed in his eyes was too much for him to restrain. "I accept, Princess. Open this damned cage."

And, heart clawing in her chest, she removed the key from the neckline of her dress, from it's hidden spot that no man would inquire about. Slowly, she fitted it into the lock and turned. An echoing click broke the expectant silence as her strong wards dissipated, the heavy iron door unsecured. She opened it for him, and he tested it before he stepped through, almost expecting the confinement spell to spring back to life and slay him.

But soon he stood before her, closer than he had ever been before while awake. He seemed to expand, grow, freedom washing over him-- no longer constrained but finally unbound. And he clenched his fists, magic and power and pent-up electricity crackling around him, through the air. In his eyes there was a triumph, an unbridled joy--

Zelda swallowed the awful feeling she was getting in the back of her throat. What had she done? And would she regret it later?

"At last," he muttered. "I thought I would go stir-crazy."

He began to laugh, and up close, Zelda fought to stand her ground. He was much bigger than her, comparatively massive.

"There is one problem," she said firmly. "You will need to decide on a face."

He stopped and stared down at her, feeling his jawline with a hand. "Hm, that is a trouble," he scowled. "I can't."

"Well, just pick one and be done with it. It can't be too hard."

Ganondorf did not seem impressed. "If it were that simple," he said. "Tell me, Princess, can you see your own face?"

"In a mirror," Zelda said.

"Exactly." He gritted his teeth. "You cannot see your own face. I rebuilt this body under Zant's power, and it is mine. But I cannot reach the face. I once had a face, but no more. Before fighting the Hero I know my thoughts were static enough to keep a single face. But after months in the damned cell I'm sure my mind has wandered too much."

"You don't remember what it looks like?"

"Of course I do. But that does not matter," he said bitterly. "Faces can only be seen by others. I cannot set my face, for I have no one who has seen it but myself. "

The cold stand-off in the dungeons was somewhat surreal. Although he was out of the cage, they both had ran into a different obstacle entirely. Zelda's mouth was tortuously dry, but she mustered the nerve to speak her mind.

"Would... a new face do?" she asked pointedly. "Details or not, you are still yourself. Or at least I think so."

He looked at her in surprise. "Oh?"

"No one will recognize you. I will introduce you as a new man," she said. "You can't accept my offer if you look like a many-faced monster to the men you're going to lead. Regardless of what you look like, either you follow through with the deal, or go back into the cell."

He scoffed. "I doubt you would be able to get me back in there for all the Light Spirits in creation."

"I can certainly try," she said stubbornly. "You need a face. Would a new one really be so repulsive to you?"

"That depends. But given the circumstances, I don't seem to have a choice." He stared her down. "Hold still."

And he reached out, lifting her chin with an unexpectedly soft touch from rough hands. Zelda made to bat him away, but he snatched her hand.

"Calm yourself," he reprimanded. "You will serve as my mirror."

And he looked. Not at her, but into her. If they had met stares before, this was entirely new. It lasted only for an instant, but in that tiny shred of time she could see herself through him. Or, at least, she thought it was herself. No, too beautiful to be herself, yet appearing exactly the same as she looked in a looking-glass. The image was bright amidst a darkness, was cherished, was valued and greedily hoarded away all for himself. Wanted, coveted... his and his alone...

Ganondorf broke the strange trance, howling. Zelda wondered what he had seen to cause him such pain, or if it was a snarl of pain at all. He had seen himself, she knew, but what exactly? Even she didn't know what sort of face for him dwelled in her mind, or if she could picture one at all. He buried his eyes in his hands as if blinded, fingernails twisting the roots of his hair. And through his cries, Zelda heard a weird acidic sizzling sound, as if he was burned. And cracks, as bone itself shifted under protest. He only hissed and hunched over as the shivering sinew and tightening flesh under his hands slid and reformed. As if he did not want Zelda to see, he doubled over. His hair curtained over him, loose as he had kept it for weeks.

"Are you..." Zelda coughed. "Is it...?"

He vanished and in a moment of panic, Zelda wondered where until she sensed the responding resonance of Power many floors above her. On top of one of the broken deserted towers, the one directly overhead with the stairs still under repair. She followed him in an instant, tugging herself there with her own magic.

She had forgotten it was night. The black, star-splashed sky stretched overhead, less dark than light for the full, bright moon that bathed the dark parapets in a ghostly glow. Not even the watch lights still burning in Castle Town down below muted the sky above, and it lit the round towertop as well as the sun: in muted colors and stark relief.

Ganondorf was shaking, still bent under a sudden weight. But before Zelda could ask, even think, she realized that the movement of his shoulders was not anger, but laughter. The sound eventually escaped his hands, and it was not the crazed mocking she heard more often. He gave the rarer sort of joy, that black pleasure that frightened just as potently as it was flattering to the ear. The laughter that went with the best, most entrancing quality of his voice, reserved for only select moments.

"Yes, I think this will do nicely," he said, exploring his own face by touch, "very nicely, in fact."

And he removed his hands, straightened up tall. His thick hair fell away, over his back. And he turned to see her, characteristic lopsided smile twisting his lips up into a smirk. Zelda tried to process what she was seeing.

"Well?" He laughed. "Do you approve?"

He looked like himself, she thought. Viscerally, he had a presence, an aura he exuded. If it had been refined, concentrated, it could begin to describe what had formed his face. Timeless: ever-young, yet ancient. Strong, well-defined features, all arranged to suck the eye into his piercing golden stare. Smooth, without the creases of rage. And yet, she could imagine it bare into a snarl that would send any man into an uncontrollable terror. Dark, consuming, devouring...

Handsome. Very, very handsome. No matter what greed, what darkness he had the essence she had somehow distilled from him, culminating in the face he had taken from her, was hypnotically charismatic. Alluring. Ravishing.

It scared her that her own mind had concocted it all.

"Good enough," she said.

He smiled, displaying a hint of sharp, predatory humor. "Then all is well. Tomorrow, Princess, you and I have much to accomplish."


	7. Chapter 7

The plan was executed easily. The next day a huge dark man on a black horse rode up to the castle gates, claiming to have an audience with the Princess. As it turned out, he did have one. Zelda accepted him and honored 'a long-overdue gesture of peace,' which entailed accepting his offer of assistance.

Zelda introduced him to the court as Lord Ganondorf, a mighty sorcerer-warlord from the far, far west. His people were gone, and thus he turned to Hyrule for asylum. In payment, he offered to lead Hyrule to victory. Although some argued the choice, there were no lasting complaints. In that way, Ganondorf was named High General of the Royal Army.

Many upper-rank military advisers protested, the prestigious title denied them after many years of trying to coax peacebound royalty. Ganondorf, with the powers of his new office, promptly stripped them of their positions, beginning with the most useless and tactless. He replaced them as he began to learn the character and merit of the various other military men at his disposal. Methodically, he went through the ranks and restructured accordingly, stripping red tape and promoting those who had at least an ounce of cunning.

He wasted no time and soon garnered an infamous reputation. Training harshened considerably, especially for new recruits. Many hated him, called him Demon Commander, detested the ever-more-difficult drills, the dull missions refortifying the line and stalling the Holodrum advance rather than attacking like in the glorious war-stories some of them had signed up for. Ganondorf's name was whispered with contempt, treated as a curse and heralded as a dark omen that overturned the oldest and most stable positions and gave offices to greenhorn hopefuls, and worse-_women_, ignoring all caste systems and conventions.

And yet, all of that began to change ever-so-slowly. After the first rout at Eldin, morale had been bad and Ganondorf's efforts only dipped it ever lower. But then, miraculously, there was a victory. And then another. And the front began to move backwards, away from Hyrule's center. No matter how hard the training was, spirits began to soar. Hyrule was _winning_!

The rate at which this happened increased as soldiers slowly became more competent. It was not long before Holodrum was in an all-out rout. Kakariko was reclaimed. Ganondorf, even after being disliked for weeks, earned an almost instant reverence and even respect among Hyrule's various provinces. He struck terror into the enemy, a black-armored god upon his horse, wielding an enormous blade with the strength of ten men. He did not languish in tents back at the encampment, but rode at the head of his assault with his preferred unit.

And the Princess Zelda.

It frightened the court, but their ruler rode out to battle as well, in silver armor as the leader of all war-mages on the field and as arguably the mightiest one of them all. She argued that the magical gift of the Royal Family would do little behind closed palace doors, and after the example of her first hasty retreat from Eldin she accepted Ganondorf's advice. Training became harsh for mages as well. But it was well worth it: Mechanical weapons were easily smashed by magical means.

She rode by her High General's side, both of them together the fist that drove entire platoons of men into retreat.

Intercepted intelligence betrayed Holodrum's fear: nothing struck more terror into the hearts of the Holodrum soldiers than talk of the 'Witch Princess' and her 'Fiend Lord.'

Fiend Lord indeed, Zelda thought. From the way her people cheered at Ganondorf in the streets, one would never guess that the poor Holodrum army was absolutely correct.

–

"He wants to meet with me."

Zelda gulped the words down, waiting for him and his response. She could see his muscles tighten at the statement, his knuckles clench. But beneath the war tent that night those were the only signs of discomfort from him.

"Surrender?" He intoned, voice controlled.

She bit her lip. "I don't know."

"Do not trust him," he advised. "Many of his officers are honest men, but he is not."

Zelda raised an eyebrow.

"Princess, even I know the value of honor. Do not trust him on the faith that he does, too."

"I know I should be cautious: he asked for me, and me alone. Usually, that's not a sign of good intentions. He underestimates me, I think." she wrung her gloves. "But I must go. You've nearly driven them to the border. I must know if they will relent, or if we need chase them into their lands to stop the fighting."

Ganondorf's face betrayed the barest hint of a terrifying snarl: a stretch of his lips, bared teeth flashing for only a moment. "It is foolish! You should not go."

"I must, and you know it," Zelda pressed. "I'll take guards, go armed no matter how he protests. I'll insist on a neutral meeting ground."

"No," he said. "If you must go, I will go with you."

"If he wants me alone, he'll see your presence as a sign of aggression," said Zelda. "You will stay here."

He was not pleased, but set his jaw. "Then use caution." His eyes darted to the side, as if debating something internally. "Do not suffer that man. He asked for your hand in marriage before, and struck when you refused. If that does not betray his capacity for treachery, I don't know what does."

"If I didn't know better, I would say you worry about me."

And to her bewilderment, he traced the thin, fresh scars over her collarbone with his eyes, where a stray shot had nicked her. "I do," he said. His posessive tone was strangled and bizarre, of a man having some subtle epiphany.

"Ganondorf," Zelda muttered, "You've... changed."

He turned his back, dark scarlet cloak masking his colossal form. "Not so much as you may think," he said. "Go now. Leave me."

–

The meeting was under a gray sky, atop one of the cold, spiky overhangs of stone in the mountains. The wind was cold, even if the stagnant humidity felt warm and clammy to the touch. It smelled of metal and rust, from the exposed veins that spiderwebbed to the surface and stabbed to the sky out of the ground: splinters of the mountain's bones.

Zelda arrived long before the designated time. She wore not fine clothes but her mail and leather. By her side were two of her royal guard, and together they stood in the pale, misty morning on the rock plateau. The soldiers did not speak to her, and she gave no instruction.

At last, the High Prince came over the hill, similarly flanked by his guard. Zelda studied him passively. Unlike his people, he was hylian: understandable, because he was her second cousin. He looked a little like like her dead uncle, with maybe a little ferret and serval mixed in for some good measure.

"It is wonderful to see you in person, Princess," he said pleasantly. "I don't think we've met since we were children."

"No, we haven't," replied Zelda. Her tone was flat. "Alric."

"Zelda."

They faced each other for a while, staring across the flat divide.

"Why did you call me here today, Alric?" Zelda set her shoulders stiffly. "You know you cannot win. Why invade my country at all?"

Alric's face did not move. "I don't know where your High General came from, Zelda, and I won't ask about the hells from which it was summoned forth," he said. "But will you not at least consider my offer?"

Zelda's long, skeptical look coaxed more words out of him.

"Holodrum may not have the magical blessings of Hyrule, Zelda, but it is blessed in its own way," he said. "The magic in our lands is gone, yes. But steam and fire are our new gifts. Together, nothing would stand against our lands. Not Labrynna, not the savages in the deep southern jungles, not the Oceanic Kingdoms, the pirate Sea Zora. We would be a power, if you'd just accept my offer."

"Alric, Hyrule is my kingdom. I see to all of its affairs myself. Do you think I would be so blind to marry you out of fear? When Labyrnna is an ally and the 'savages' harm no one? The Oceanic Kingdoms are displeased with you, not me; I have no sea border, and we are on good terms." She scowled as seriously as she could, though she feared it was not nearly threatening enough to make her point. "Out of all of these peoples, you are the one ally I have had to suffer treachery from. Your promises of security sound more like a vow of conquest to me."

"We could have unity, Zelda."

"You can't fathom the terrors I have seen lately, Alric. You can't imagine the troubles Hyrule has faced in the past year. If you think I have grown weak because of the brief Twilight Occupation, you're wrong." she said condemningly. "Alric, you have been beaten. You're back to your own borders now. I am willing to negotiate the terms of your surrender, but I'll die before I marry you and hand my hard-earn victory to the dogs."

"That's too bad. Seize her."

Zelda had expected some sort of trick, but when the men flanking Alric didn't move it caught her off guard when her wrist was grabbed from behind. Her own guard! Zelda cursed loudly as the Holodrum soldiers trained the barrels of their wide guns on her. At a distance, fireshot was worse and less accurate than arrow fire, but it was at close quarters it was dangerous. Her own guards grabbed her wrists, held her steady. She did not panic, only thought. There had been worse, much worse to face.

But it did not stop her inner self from seeing Zant for a moment when she looked at Alric. The same feeling of helplessness, even if muted. And strong, deep words echoed through her mind of honor and determination and all that evil should have abhorred, bracing her thoughts against the unwanted memories. Alric couldn't have known, could not have been there to witness what she had faced. And she was perhaps not the same girl as she once was, unwilling to risk for the sake of her people.

Zelda decided this would not end in the same way as the time before.

She cried out sharply, letting lose a burst of sunfire that lighted the sky in a beacon that would alert every soldier in fifty miles. Her two traitorous attendants released her, shrieking in agony. They died in pain. Two shots rang out, fearful curses exclaimed by the two Holodrum gunman. Zelda was aware of an explosion in her side, and she did not care. Her mind was in some other place, the parts of it able to be hurt by physical shock hidden and locked away. At the moment she was Zelda, Bearer of Wisdom and she could not be stopped.

"The witching powers are the truth?" Alric cried faintly, terrified over the torrent of magic.

His fevered cries meant nothing, she thought. The gunmen cast their spent iron weapons to the ground and began to draw their sidearm blades, and Zelda swept them both off their feet, off the bluff to be dashed to the rocks below. The pain hit her then, an aching fiery clawing in her flank; she clutched her side and even through soft leather gloves could feel heavy blood seeping down her body and the sharp shards of shattered chainmail. Her vision blurred but words echoed through her head, mantras, magic words, voices that held her tightly to reality.

A sudden jolt slammed into her, a steel bolt piercing her shoulder. Her dim vision had not noticed him produce or fire it, but she saw as Alric dropped the crossbow and struggle to his swordbelt. Zelda mechanically drew her blade, ground swimming before her, and struck with a hail of sparks-- she was leaking magic, she knew, as she became less able to control herself. Lightning cracked in her sword as it met his own, sizzling and branding the steel white-hot. His sword bent and he cried out in surprise, stumbling backward to flee.

Zelda's limbs were lead, but she lifted one arm to grasp magic, to yank his legs out from under him. She could not understand why his shriek was so loud, gurgling in nature, until she became close enough for the blurry image to come to focus. He had fallen upon one of the spiked veins of ore that protruded from the mountain, impaling him from the back straight through his abdomen. He flailed, pinned, but could not move. And when Zelda stood over him, bleeding on him, she couldn't recognize her cousin but saw a beaten interloper that was only by coincidence a blood relation.

His eyes stretched wide, with tears and shock over them. He had not known, Zelda thought in a fuzzy world where only the situation mattered. He hadn't believed the reports of her strength, magical ability. Or if he did, he thought that two gunmen and a paid-off escort could subdue her. He reached to her, spittle foaming as his mouth moved, forming abstract sounds.

"Mercy," he pleaded.

Zelda trained her blade over his heart with unsteady hands. "No."

And she thrust her blade into him, ending his cries. The first one did not finish him completely, so with an aching heart she stabbed him again, trying to be quick and merciful with his life. She was not sure she succeeded. But in the end, he was dead. All of the implications of that shrieked in her head. Warranted, for he had struck first. But did she have proof? What would happen now? Would the war end? Escalate?

Pain overwhelmed her, blood spotting the ground. She stumbled. Had to get away, Zelda thought distantly. Back to camp. She tried to summon magic of transport, but she could not. Weakly, she staggered down the return path in the direction she was sure the tents were.

Zelda did not know that she managed for only about a minute, for it felt like hours to her. She fell and did not rise, dizziness and faintness taking her. Her last lament was that she was the one who had failed the Triforce, and that she had left Power alone in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

In the afterlife, the gods had blessed Zelda with a husband. Or, that was her conclusion. It was dark, and she felt warm, buttery sheets upon her naked body. A presence curled up to her back, laid a hand over the curve of her hip lovingly, caressed her idly. She could feel the rise of a chest against her back, and the tickle of her hair as it was tossed by his breath.

It could not have been anything else, she concluded. Then she remembered she was dead, and a deep, stifling regret filled her soul: a strong longing for might-have-beens that were never to become true. Ones she could not name or even describe. Simply, loss.

She did not look at this husband the gods gave her, and she shut her eyes, shed a tear. His hand reached and wiped it away: a being constructed of pure compassion, constructed just for this illusion.

"Stop that," she said. He ceased at once, placing his hands on her shoulder questioningly. "You're not real."

He said nothing, merely pulled her closer: possessively as if the being wished to prove existence. But nothing was real anymore, Zelda knew. She was dead. The closeness made her hyperaware of her own body, mortal imperfections that all peoples were afflicted with. Her legs, hidden beneath a dress, arms hidden in gloves, betrayed her unfeminine pursuits. Her hips too wide for her shoulders so that she often wore heavy ornament pauldrons to balance them. Eyes too sharp to frame with pigment, hair too dull and browned to be the gold of her ancestors. Chestline too full to fit a corset comfortably. Earthly things, mundane worries that may not have even been flaws. Just echoes of what she had left behind.

"Why did it end up this way?" she asked of the phantom by her side. "I don't understand it."

The silence became her confessional.

"I've killed men before, as a soldier does. I had to. But... Alric, he asked... for mercy." she paused. "Ganondorf asked, too. In a way."

The sheets smelled clean, like bleach. It was a dead, cold smell that she did not like.

"Why is it that I easily killed Alric, when I could not kill Ganondorf? Alric was just a misguided opportunist. Ganondorf was a threat. Am I a coward? Only killing the weaker one? Because he was not connected to me, not in the way Ganondorf is, is bound."

Only that rise and fall of breath answered her.

"Why didn't I kill Ganondorf then? I couldn't have known about the Triforce and its balances when I had that one opportunity"

She bit her lip. "I... have a pity for that man. I know what drove him mad, and he's all alone. I am all he has left, in a way... would it make me a traitor to have killed him? Link did what he had to, and killing him again... it was superfluous."

Yes, superfluous. Her rationalizations didn't make sense, but she clung to them.

"I don't know what I did, gods. Was speaking to him wrong? Did I do something to him to make him how he is now? Is it my fault that... that there's something like warmth to him now? Did I put that inside him, or was it his? I can't ever apologize to him enough, and I don't think I will again. It was my line's fault that his story was a tragedy, and he'd never understand how awful that makes me feel. But the way he acts-- as if it hardly matters now! He hasn't forgotten, not after his complete rage-insanity. But where did that madness go?"

Her tongue felt heavy. "He doesn't seem mad. Not a gentleman, of course, but... I want to be with him. It was once like watching a menagerie animal, but as soon as he began to think and speak I've just been making up excuses for indulging him. He's more dangerous now than ever, that he knows what he is doing. But why doesn't that danger give me fear this time?"

The pause was expectant, wide, as touches moved to distract her from thought: running along her hips, her neck, her stomach. She shivered, but ignored them as best she could. This thing wasn't real. Just a trial to be faced after death. Oh gods, she could want. But to give in would mean slipping away, she knew. Her thoughts felt tainted. "Stop that!" she pouted and the fingertips lay coldly on her back, forlorn.

"As if that wasn't enough! Save me, but I think... I think I desire him. It's not right, I shouldn't... it's forbidden. But it's just too much-- his voice excites me, his words perplex me. I don't have much experience in the ways of flesh, but-- Gods!-- under his armor, the sight is all I can think of. It isn't much of a wonder what face he claimed. He looked into me, and I can feel my body ache... he tore lust from me and that is his face... I could stare forever. I wonder if that was once how he looked, when he was truly young and handsome. It fits him too well to be so petty as my silly wants and desires."

She froze and shut her eyes as the arms of the shadow lover tugged her over, splaying her over the soft linens. His weight pressed down upon her, and she gasped as he began to rub her down, running lustful tongue down her collarbone, teasing softly until she felt it become sweet. But she cried, unsatisfied as ghost lips brushed over her own.

"No, stop," she sobbed. "It's not right. I can't enjoy this... I never said goodbye to him. He's all alone down there, in that earthly cage and he'll never see me, not ever again... He'll never be at peace."

A sound hushed her, stark in the complete nothing of sheets and touch. And leaning into her ear-- sweet breath and a whispering voice, faraway and faint in her mind.

_"I am at peace, Zelda._"

She flew to look, to open her eyes, but only for a tiny instant did she see a flash of darkened gold, a stare she knew so well by now. In it her own reflection, the absolute beauty he saw her as--

Zelda bolted upright in bed, the sudden light and paleness stinging her eyes. Her gasps were shallow, points of touch fading on her skin and she realized they had been imagined. Hollow.

Her own room, in her own tower. The morning sun streamed through the parted curtains, and she was dressed in her slip of white silk. Dead, she wondered? Was this dead? No, she was alive, somehow. That dark, warm place was only a nightmare.

She labeled it so, but she could never recall a nightmare that had been so pleasant. So it was not a nightmare. But not a dream, for it was too vivid.

A vision? She almost didn't want to entertain that idea, for in it the meaning was disturbingly clear. Oh, she did not want to think of that, it was wrong, she thought. But the thoughts were weak, tenderness was stronger... She would have liked it to be an omen.

She remembered what had happened. Alric! And then... had someone found her? She squirmed upright in bed, to meet a dull pain in her shoulder and side she did not like. But it had healed, was only a fading ache. Zelda figured she could stand, and she reached forward to fling the covers off--

Her hand was tethered to the bedpost by a silver chain, rattling when she pulled it. Her wrist was shut in a cuff, and that way, she was stuck where she was. She stared at the chain, testing it. Darkness crackled around it as she tried to sever the links, and she yanked to no avail.

A note fell out of the cuff and she unfolded the paper delicately.

**_Zelda_, **it said.**_ If you are reading this, I know you are awake and I'll speak with you shortly. Never do anything this foolish again, or next time you will wind up with something your healers cannot mend.  
_**

**_Do not leave your room. You are still healing._**

**_Regards,  
_**

**_Ganondorf_.**

Zelda crumpled it. Do not leave her room? She was tied to a bed! How dare he chain her up? She tugged at it again, and only succeeded at making her wrist sore. Before long she heard the characteristic rush of darkness that often accompanied his magic, subtle as he blinked into the room. She turned to face him and stamped down exactly how nice it was to see him with a wide frown.

"I suppose you think this is funny," she said, tugging the leash.

He smirked. "Hilarious."

"Well, it's not," Zelda pouted. "Please take it off."

"Why?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You've already proven too resistant to my advice for your own good, and you must stay here if you're ever going to recover. It will come off in a few days. I don't see why this is worth such a fuss. Aside, how do you feel?"

"Worse that I'm chained up like a dog," Zelda bit.

"You should have thought of that before you locked me in a cell that smelled like one."

Zelda tried to look as threatening as she could in her white slip, but was only reminded how improper it was for him to see her this way. Not that he seemed to care. "Don't turn all of this back on me like I deserve it," she said. "Take it off at once!"

"I see you're not going to be pleasant until you've calmed down," he said dryly. "In that case I'll leave, and tomorrow should you be more cooperative--"

"Wait! Please, don't go--!"

He froze, waited, and turned back to her with an amused fire in his eyes that made Zelda want to curse, or strike him. "Yes?"

Instead, she stiffened up. "May I at least have a book to pass the time with?"

And as if the word was the most delicious revenge he had ever tasted, he said, "No," and left her alone.

Zelda truly did yell at that, and flopped back on the bed, mumbling a million frustrated oaths of exactly what she would do as soon as she got the cuff off. All of them were unfounded.

Because it was no matter how he frustrated her, reversed the situation. She could no longer deny she loved it.

And by 'it,' she meant 'him.'


	9. Chapter 9

Despite the exchange, he did leave her with a book the next day: an interesting anthology of war poetry that she found rather engaging. And she kept him in the room with her as long as he would stay, for he was her source of news.

They had won the war, Ganondorf reported. Not long after the High Prince had died, his brother had taken the throne and recalled everything immediately. As it turned out, the magic will of the Goddesses limited Holodrum's development of gunpowder-machines to a static rate and failed attempts at advancement. By taking Hyrule, he had meant to take their favor and bless Holodrum again.

Which was nothing short of mad, the new King of Holordrum insisted: no sort of magic power existed to grant the gods' will. Just as Ganondorf found that statement ironic, Zelda did too.

Ganondorf, in the day Zelda had been unaware, had completed the defense of the country and had used his emergency powers to cover up Zelda's wounded state. For all anybody knew, she had contracted a brief illness on campaign and High Prince Alric of Holodrum had been slain in response to an assassination attempt during a parlay.

Zelda laughed over the fact that the Lord of Darkness himself had paraded through the streets of Castle Town on his victory march and had been celebrated a great hero. Then again, it was little trouble for him to gain their favor. He was visually pleasing enough to convince the weakest of mind. And for the rest, all he had to do was give a few intelligent words, order aid for refugees, and let the stories of his deeds in combat trickle back through rumor. He even claimed he had gotten letters from women offering to be his concubines, though he declined every one.

Through these stories, Zelda passed a week, bedridden, until she could no longer feel a phantom of her wounds. Of course, by that time she craved to leave the room, and had begun to pull at her chain again. But one day, she found that it unclasped itself of its own accord and left her unbound.

She hardly knew what to do as the freedom washed over her, although her doors were still locked. She promptly ordered a bath and spent a long soak scrubbing herself human. By the end of it, she did not bother to get dressed and simply sat in her slip, reading the latest volume that had been left for her. True, she could get up more easily and reach her own things, but for some reason the appeal was moot.

Ganondorf appeared late into the evening, dressed in the finest armor he possessed and looking somewhat worse for wear. Though as he laid eyes on her, he seemed revitalized. "Enjoying the freedom, Princess?"

"You're cruel. You weren't even here to let me go," Zelda retorted, eyes peeking over the book's spine.

"If I had been here, you would have fussed," Ganondorf pointed out, "As you're doing beautifully now."

Zelda closed the book. "So you would prefer less fuss from me? Fine. I will fuss less."

"I somehow doubt you could," he grinned.

"Pft, enough of this banter," she scoffed. "Unlock the balcony, or at least give me the key. I want to see the sky... I'm dying in here. Not even Zant locked the balcony."

He looked at her thoughtfully, shaking his head. "_He_ did not even lock the door," Ganondorf replied distastefully. "Hn, as you wish."

And he took her by the hand and in a dizzying leap of magic Zelda found her bare shoulders hit by cold air. She had never been moved with magic by anyone but herself before, and she found it disorienting, but not unpleasant. It was brisk in the wind and unseasonable cool night, but the fresh air invigorated her and she smiled, looking up at the stars with rapt happiness. But then she realized the trickery...

"This is not my balcony," Zelda said suspiciously.

He crossed his arms, gazing into the distance. "I prefer this view to yours."

"Why?"

"It faces west," he said simply. And from the flat tone of his normally robust voice, Zelda could feel the loss in his words.

She took a careful moment before speaking, afraid of the answers she could get. "And what will you do now, Ganondorf?"

"Hn?"

He looked down at her, as if startled. Zelda had not been expecting to surprise him, so she cleared her throat to diffuse the tension. "My offer is done," she said. "You helped me, helped Hyrule. You've earned your complete freedom... for good or bad. I can't stop you, unless you decide to become a threat. What will you do?"

Ganondorf frowned dryly. "I have thought about many things," he said. "But I'm sure you can use your imagination. Princess, your kingdom will be mine one day. I vowed, and I do not break my vows. Hyrule has caused an unspeakable insult to me and my people. I vowed to take it and crush the festering decay in it that robbed me of my home, foiled me before my foolish plans bore fruit."

He grumbled. "I was young, Princess. I once thought that obtaining the Triforce would be simple, and in a way it was to be. I am not so blind now. I will take your kingdom, and I will make it mine. The only difference is that I am an older soul and I remember..." he gritted his teeth, as if he had no words to express what he was attempting to say. "I know myself."

"I will stop you," Zelda said quietly. "And I will do it now."

This was another bad idea, she told herself. Even worse than the last one. Wisdom told her so. It was not done, it had never been done, should never be done. It would doom her, he was inevitably not half as enjoyable as she imagined, she tried to convince of herself. But this plan was also the only thing she could think of at the time, and some other part of her, one that could see the future and listened to her desires, said it was right.

"Wisdom's role is not to combat, and you know this," Ganondorf scolded. "That is why Courage exists. As you told me, two are needed to balance one. This is my only chance to claim Hyrule. You are only one in play: enough to meet me, but not enough to challenge me. I have you in check."

Zelda did not give. He was intimidating, yes. But a new confession to her soul she had been mulling over in the past captive week, it gave her strength in the face of him. It disarmed him, alerted her to an odd bewildered narrowing of his brow that betrayed his confusion. He was used to budging others. He budged her all the time. When she did not give, he had become alert.

"I didn't say anything about keeping you from Hyrule. I only said I would stop you, and your plans," she said with as much gravity as she could. "Ganondorf, would you marry me?"

He puzzled this over for a moment until the last few beats of her speech processed to him. It was the only time she had ever seen him act truly shocked, off guard, fierce eyes unchecked and uncontrolled for a second. Zelda relished the sound that had come out of her mouth. Oh, such a bad, horrid idea. But from all logical standpoints, the best one. He looked at her as if she had asked for a wash basin.

"I misheard," he said, blinking away his shock to gain control of his eyes again. "For a moment, I thought you said..."

"Oh, you heard correctly."

"Repeat."

She looked up at him unflinchingly. The fact that he was the King of Evil by now was drowned out by the fact that he held a higher place in her heart, that his face was pleasing to stare at and his presence a comfort. "Ganondorf. Would you marry me?"

"Why?"

"So that you will be my husband," she answered, just as simply. She couldn't recall him ever looking plainly defeated, so she basked in the victory. Yes, it was worth it. Even if just for this. She had finally beaten him. He cleared his throat, and she could see his great muscles tremble, even under the armor. She liked that. Every single time he had mocked her, lunged at her with intent to kill, every biting insult, curse, everything: this victory more than compensated for them.

"Princess, you must be-- you can't--"

"I am," Zelda said firmly. "And call me Zelda. That's my name. I've heard you use it before. You like it."

He shook with pent-up frustration. This was Power's downfall, she knew. Courage adapted. Wisdom anticipated. Power responded. And power could be foiled, because it could not adapt nor anticipate: was the virtue of action, of having the will to change the world around oneself. But his mind, although brilliant in the way of sheer, raw intelligence, could not have anticipated this move. Everything was his plan, never the plans of others, which was why Wisdom was able to thwart Power so many times in the legends: with the help of Courage, which followed Wisdom's lead.

He had been defeated. She could see the raw energy tremble through him, cut off, blocked, with no place to go. She smiled at him, which only frustrated him further. If it were two months earlier, she would have fled from the look in his eyes, comparable only to rage, but more confused-- as if he could not decide whether to disembowel her or not.

"Zelda," he said, though he paused after the name as if it had been toothsome to him, "what warped dream of mine have you invaded?"

"This is no dream," she explained, fighting to keep all awkward confessions out of her words. "This is the best and only solution. You cannot kill me, or you risk breaking Hyrule, and I cannot kill you. But you still desire Hyrule, and would kill to get it. I may as well let you have it, spare you the bother, and remain here as Queen to keep you out of trouble. You have proven your competency and worthiness to me in all ways in the past months. Dark or not, you would make an acceptable king. This is my kingdom, and any other way you will try will mean my abandoning of it. Which I will not do."

He had nothing to say. And so Zelda fit in the last biting remark. "I win."

Yet he was still silent, staring at her with that troubled, confused, torn expression. It was uncharacteristic, strange and out of place on his face. As if he could barely fathom something, as if he was having some spiritual revelation, he gazed down at her as if she was the most perplexing object in the entire world. Zelda actually began to flinch. She had expected her victory to be complete, but not _this_ complete. What had happened to him?

"Ganondorf," she wavered, curious. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." He swallowed something loudly. "I'm fine. Better than fine."

And then, suddenly, his eyes widened as if he couldn't take it anymore and he lunged forward. Zelda was frozen, he had moved too fast, and suddenly without quite knowing how his mouth was against hers, lips surprisingly soft, but insistent. She parted hers naturally, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His taste was irresistible, his scent enveloped her, and her mind blanked for a few precious moments. He withdrew just as quickly, unsatisfied and stiff-backed.

"I apologize," he said woodenly, and turned to leave. Zelda grabbed his leather glove, tugging him back. Her strength would have not done much to halt him, but he stopped anyway.

She tugged him down to hiss angrily in his ear, and he complied. "Have you gone completely dense? Are you going to marry me or not? What do you want me to do? Confess my undying devotion to you like any other empty-headed, fawning court jewel? I've already embarrassed myself: broken every single rule by asking you instead of the other way around, and you simply shrug me off?"

"Zelda..."

"It's not like you to show this much weakness. For Din's sake, I've done all I can to be reasonable and polite about this. So, will you marry me? Yes or no?"

His eyes were dark and stunned. "Yes," he said.

"Good."

And then Zelda let herself go. She silenced the whining voice of her upbringing, of Princess Zelda, and stretched tiptoe to reach his lips. He accepted her ravenously, almost lifting her up, drawing his arms around her. And they stood there on the balcony, demanding ever-more from one another, both relieving the months-old pressure that had grown between them. Between them, the kiss deepened until neither one had any more breath to give. And when they finally surfaced, something new had replaced the cold aggression, a base understanding when they shared wry smiles. And Ganondorf, the fire rekindled in his eyes, laughed as he never had before.

"I haven't tasted maiden in a century. Longer," he said, utterly amused. "And none has ever been so divine."

Zelda snorted. "Ganondorf, don't speak of past kisses to your betrothed. I know I have no ring, but..."

"It was duty, nothing more," he said distantly. "No, this is different. Entirely."

"I'm sure," she said with salt, raising an eyebrow at his gross inability to articulate what he so easily displayed in actions. "Will I be treated to the King of Evil professing the depths of his gooey affections, now?"

He moved his hand down her back, to her waist. "Absolutely not. And blemish my absolutely un-gooey record?" he said, "Zelda, you are cold."

Zelda shivered. It was true. Standing out on the windy balcony, against his cold steel armor, she was freezing in her nightclothes. She blushed as she realized how he had noticed: not from gooseflesh but from the telltale front of her silk slip.

"Come, it's better inside."

And oh, it was.

--

As the author, I would like to take this time to give thanks to several people who made this fanfiction possible. First, to amazing Seldavia: this was written for her originally, and adapted for eff eff dot net later. Next, to Jack Fetch and Redwalgrl-RG, two nice reviewers who endeavored to comment multiple times on this work, when so much work garnered so few comments as of when this fanfiction was in active submission. Lastly, I would like to thank TsukiZaraki, a courageous fan who not only had the guts to leave me a string of wonderful review-related chat that entertained me greatly, but also for finding me on another website and being bold enough to be -GASP- a nice person and make friends with me. That always brightens my day.

Thank you for reading,

Andrea Foxx, as known by many handles.


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